Iroas
by Littletimmy223
Summary: An eventful day. An eventful breakfast. An eventful gift.
1. A New Day

**So, I have no idea how this started. Call it what you will, whatever ship names you want, whatever universe you want. I'm excited about it though. For those of you who don't know, this is set within the Toxicverse. A beautiful universe with three beautiful stories (and an ongoing fourth) involving some of the best written SYOTs out there. Seriously, these characters are not mine. Though I wish they were. One is (kinda) but not really XD. Basically, go check out Crush or be Crushed: The 204th Hunger Games if you want more context. Though if you haven't read it, you'll hopefully still get the gist.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

The rain could be heard softly against the window pane. The faint knocking echoed around, in-and-out. Each drop sounded distinct, sharp. A creature of its own, perhaps, who could tell. Iroas enjoyed the sound of the rain. It created an almost ghost-like sound that reverberated harshly throughout the vacant hallway. The water made the absence more bearable.

Only a sociopath would enjoy the silence. Iroas knew he was no sociopath. He was a smart boy. Smart because he knew the density of rain. He knew such smart things. Such smart things on how blood was only a red, liquidated clump of cells that spilt from a wound. Such smart things, as how crushing a man's esophagus with your thigh (and adding the right amount of torque), can snap his neck. In five different places, as a fact. Things on how to keep close watch, how to eat your body weight, and holding your breath underwater for three minutes.

Baths were dangerous because of Dad. Noted.

Dim light fluttered in, the spectrum casting private silhouettes and shadows where none stood. The house was distilled, as if in a snowglobe. Something rotten was in the basement, yet nothing lighter in the attic. Iroas could tell. He felt such security in that knowledge. A bang came from upstairs. Mom was up. She would be coming down soon. Then, the day would start.

Iroas perched up, knocking on the window twice for good luck. Dad would want him to help clean the locker room. To be honest, he'd rather be with mom than with him. At least she was honest. Dad always kept him at bay, though Iroas could tell some _thing_ was…simply off.

He'd asked Mom about Dad. All she said was " _the fucker'll teach, and you'll listen, Iss. Or I'll bash your brains in."_

Iroas deemed it suitable to not bother asking further questions.

* * *

The clouds coated a blanket against the outcroppings of the Village. It was early dawn. Already, Dad had noted, behind schedule. Iroas noted that too. He was proud of that. The tight grip was loosened as Mom got ahead, looming over her father. She always loomed. Iroas hated when she did that. She always had to have the air, had to have the _significance_ he lacked. Dad stood there. He paid her no mind.

Iroas kept close to them as they entered the market, cutting through the common folk as if they were water. The rain had let up some, though drops continued caking the ground. A hovercraft went overhead. Iroas murmured the anthem under his breath, making sure to keep iambic pentameter with each syllable. As they neared their destination, Iroas saw the Capitolian flag loom ahead.

 _The Justice Building._

Dad had told him to keep silent. He'd said it was a test. Iroas hated his tests, he had no idea what he was being tested _on._ And every time he completed one, all Dad said was " _well done, son."_ A sly wink. _"You're like a fish in water, aren't you?"_ As if that was suppose to answer everything.

So Iroas kept himself composed. Silent. Mom went first (she _always_ went first), and Dad followed suit. As Mom went behind the huge wooden doors, he motioned for Iroas to come close to him. That meant he wanted to talk.

"Now, son, you must have some inclination as to what we're doing here, don't you?"

"Yes, Father."

"Well, what might that inclination be?" It was phrased as a question, yet sounded more like a demand.

"Mom is putting bad people away." A smile.

"Good. You know why, don't you?"

"Because she's the only one who can." Another smile.

"Do you know why?"

"Because she's strong, stronger than any of the other puss- _people_ here." Iroas caught himself from using Mom's language. He only got to speak like her on the weekends, when Dad was working.

"Exactly! Well, I'll be, you'll be winning the grand prize in no time!" Hair ruffle. It was supposed to be playful, yet Iroas felt the detachment in the action.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Is she stronger than you?"

A pause. Iroas looked up at his father, his golden hair still feeling a tug from his father's hand. The blue eyes pierced back at him. Mute, unmoving, mirthful, empty.

"Oh, oh yes she is, son." A smile. " _Strength,_ such a funny word." That was more to himself.

"I want to be as strong as her someday."

Dad laughed at that, which upset Iroas. He didn't think that was very funny. Though Dad patted him on the back, and kneeled down to him. "And I'm sure she'll be incredibly proud of you. Just…like I am." Another hair ruffle.

Iroas would have responded, but the doors opened. They were ushered inside the large room, where Mom stood near a bench to the side. As Dad walked them through the aisle, the spectators in the room started taking pictures. Mom seemed angry. Though, she _always_ seemed angry.

There were two wooden chairs in front of the bench, with a metal desk. There were two holes in the desk. The desk was placed in the center of the room, the only source of light being a barred window in the high right corner. Two Peacekeepers were guarding a small door in the left corner. Seven others stood around the room in total, which was in a pentagonal shape, Iroas noted. Mom and Dad stood together, unmoving, until a faint moan was heard in the distance. Suddenly, the two Peacekeepers guarding the little door moved aside, as three more ushered in a prisoner in chains.

The three dragged her across the room, keeping a dark bag on her head. She hardly moved. A faint muffle was heard from behind the bag.

They sat her down, lifting her forearms and locking them into the chain posts on the desk (Iroas was forgetting the name of them). The three Peacekeepers then left the room through the door, as the other two resumed their place.

A group of black-suited men (and women) entered the hall. They took positions around the prisoner, with the one in the white pantsuit taking front position. The white-uniformed woman focused her eyes down on the slumped body sitting in front of her. With one swift motion, she removed the bag. The prisoner's body jolted, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. Iroas could tell she probably was unused to the light.

The White Woman cleared her throat.

"We are gathered here today to discuss the crimes of the accused against our beloved Capitol. The accused stands against having committed disruption of the beloved Two-Hundred and Fourth Hunger Games, as well as aiding the release of fugitives Mr. Reid and Mr. Keating, now labeled enemies of the state. Aiding and abetting rebel intentions, encouraging anti-Capitol sentiment, and using lethal force on Capitolian agents. Gathered here are witnesses, to attest for your crimes." There was a moment of contention as the woman stopped speaking. The prisoner only kept her head down, with what seemed to be a considerable amount of restraint.

The White Woman seemed dissatisfied with this. She motioned over to where Mom and Dad were standing, with what seemed like a look of pride. "The Victors of the Two-Hundred and Fourth Hunger Games; how do you find Miss Tarsus?"

The prisoner raised her head. Her eyes locking right into Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad looked at each other. Then, together, back at the prisoner.

Dad smirked at her.

Mom snarled at her.

"Guilty."


	2. Breakfast

**Part Two! Woot woot! Thanks to those who reviewed and to those who encouraged me to continue this story. You guys rock. I hope to get more in depth as I figure out the trajectory of this thing. I have no idea how long it'll be, or if there will be an overarching plot or simply vignettes. Right now I'm just dipping my toes in to get a feel. Remember, this is a shared universe.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

Pullox laughed.

* * *

The sound reverberated throughout the small square where they were standing. Lexie had the gun pointed at her, Honora had already finished off the impressive Eight girl, and the rest was for their picking.

Even without the absolute question of death, the Eight girl had seemed sturdy. She had fought, fought hard enough to warrant Honora's rage. Pullox imagined that this was what she was like during the 'chair' incident, though he hadn't seen that in action.

This. _This._

This was more like it. Hard to think what would happen to him if he'd been on the receiving end of her fury. Though nothing of the sort would happen to him.

Lexie only glared at the two, her golden air ruffled like a lion's mane as she raised her arms. Honora roared at her, and as she charged Lexie began to utter an incantation.

Pullox squeezed the trigger.

A shot rang out.

* * *

His wife gave him a brief quizzical look. He always found the oddest moments funny. She was getting tired of that shit. Like life was some secret joke, that only _he_ knew the punchline. Drove her up fucking walls sometimes.

"Am I wearing a clown hat?"

Came Honora's sardonic response. She had the coffee cup half up to her lip, the steam still rising from the fresh pot. It was no doubt scolding, though that never stopped her.

Pullox simply dunked his teabag monotonously, continuing to look at the tick of the clock on their kitchen wall.

"How many times, dear. Patience is a virtue." A slight pointer at the still hot coffee.

"So?"

Honora brought the cup to her mouth. Her esophagus moved up and down with the gulp of the heated liquid being consumed.

Pullox only tutted softly, fetching a napkin at he raised a danish up to his skewered mouth.

"Iroas went fishing yesterday."

"Did he kill the fish he caught or pussy out like last time?" Honora ignored the look Pullox was no doubt giving her.

"He's learning at his own pace. He needs to know the value of life before we show him how to take it away."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time I'll take him out." Honora took another hot sip, flipping through the paper laid out in front of her.

"I doubt that would be wise. He needs a more…subdued approach to killing."

"And mine isn't?"

Pullox began to smirk. She always hated when he did that, though only when he was smirking at _her._ She fucking loved it when he did it on others, the look they'd make. Like about to shit their pants look. Priceless. Everyone knew what they were capable of in their Games. Being the only two Victors in recent history, their Games hit record return viewership. The President had wanted them back as trainers next year, even offering them a temporary placement in the Capitol to help with fundraisers and 'charity' donations to the lesser Districts.

Anyway, yeah, it was fucking hot when he did it to other people. But this shit was not flying cool.

"I'd say your approach is more _direct_ , sweetheart." He made sure to emphasis direct, like it was obviously the only approach she knew. The fucker. Trying to pick at her this early in the morning.

"Oh really? I'm direct, am I?"

"I'd say that's a fair assumption."

"Fair? Oh fucking _fair?_ Smart word coming from you."

His smirk faltered. Hah, got him.

Honora went back to flipping the paper, setting her cup aside. The ticking of the clock droned on.

"You're a fucking cunt. Without me, you'd be Lexie's fucking toothpick. Was that _direct_ enough for you, honey?"

The words came out of his mouth with the strongest deliberation.

The clang of the coffee cup breaking against the wall sent the morning birds into a scatter. Iroas would have definitely heard that. Good. Let him know the strength of what his parents can do. It is better to be self-aware of one's own safety then to presume ignorance on the matter.

Honora didn't even think. She just saw red. She grabbed Pullox by the collar, dragging him up on his toes as she glared down at him.

Pullox didn't flinch. He knew she wouldn't hurt him. Not even a finger would be laid on his perfectly combed head.

"Your reflexes are slowing, dearest. A pity."

"I'll show you slow reflexes you pig-fuck."

Pullox smile grew wider, reaching the ends of his ears. "Really? I'd imagine that would be quite the spectacle! Little Iroas coming down to find daddy in a spat of blood? He'd be getting a better show than the daytime nonsense he pings away at on the television."

Honora remained still. Unmoving. Her eyes didn't even blink.

"Go on. Do it, Honora. I know you want to feel the softness of flesh again, under your strength. The feel of your muscles constricting and the red pool that'll come from all the exertion. And the screams? Ah," Pullox noticed her eyes lighting up," I bet you miss them most of all, don't you? Honora the Victor? A shame you had to share the crown. A shame you weren't strong enough to get it on your own merits."

Her glare sharpened. "I'd stop talking now, blondie."

"Or what? You're going to crush the life out of my throat? Beat on me? Like you did to your pretty little sister? Is this reminding you of her? Friendly family beatings is common in the Honora-household, huh? Did daddy start that tradition? Or was it mommy? Hmm…"

"You sick fuck."

"Tut-tut, Honora. That's no way to speak to your husband."

"I never should've let you convince me to marry you."

"I didn't _convince_ you of anything. You leapt at the chance to be with me. The minute I said I wanted you, you crumbled. Face it, you're in awe of what I can do, dear. Of what I _did."_

Honora's face grew a nasty snarl. "Oh I remember what you _did!_ I remember that alright, it comes to me when I'm sleeping. It wakes me up. What you _did to me._ "

"And it fuels you to me. It turns you on." Pullox only smiled. "It drives you _insane_ , doesn't it? 'Oh'," he put up his hands in mock imitation, "oh how oh why could I have been so stupid? How could he have done it? Right. Under. My. Nose."

Honora felt it. The sharpness of the blade.

It was pressed against the skin under her neck. From her peripherals she could see the kitchen knife was no longer in its block.

"We seem to be in quite the pickle here, honey."

Pullox's voice came in a monotone. Honora kept her hands on his collar. He kept the knife under her chin.

Iroas walked in. The two did not move. Iroas went to go get a strudel from the toaster, then walked off into the living room to turn on the tv without a second thought. Pullox smiled at his wife. She gave him a blank stare, then pulled him so tight to her it was like a crack of lightening.

The kiss lasted a hard minute. Then she broke away from him, picking up the remains of his danish and stuffing it down her throat, downing the rest of the coffee in one gulp to wash it down.

"We should go. Iroas'll be late to school." She bemused.

Pullox straightened his shirt, picking up the napkin that had been discarded on the kitchen counter. "Indeed." He softly raised it to wipe off some crusts from the corner of her mouth. The two held eye contact during the motion. It was one, slow, brush. "I'll get the car running, baby killer." Then he walked past her to the living room, where Iroas was still sitting.

Honora took a beat, then turned to see her husband crouched down to Iroas. He was squatting, pointing to the screen as Iroas glanced up at him. No doubt he was explaining something to the child. Some facial movement the tv anchor was doing, some body characteristic that showed they were secretly gay or some shit. Honora gave only the hints of a smile. The bare hints. Then, coughing loudly to get their attention, she motioned towards the door.


	3. Inertia

Pullox never saw himself as a wrong person. He never saw himself as a right person. He saw himself as himself. 'An extension of me', was what he called it. It was what he spoke of whenever it was late and the lambs were asleep. That was when the wolves came out to play. Witching hour. Pullox's favorite time of life. Sleep was an unfortunate necessity. No matter how powerful the man, they all must bend to the will of sleep. Pullox had no tolerance for the minutia of failure. No tolerance.

Honora called him a fucking pompous prick. Pullox continued to tease her over her fascination with phallus terms, which caused her to punch the dandruff off his left eyebrow. She made it a good one. Their rough passion was understood by few, rarely seen by any, but felt by all. Everyone in the village could tell when they'd been having a fight. Pullox would leave dead birds at the foot of the bed when they'd fight. Tell her it's dangerous to fly too high. She'd be blinded by her own ignorance. Honora would simply break everything. Everything.

No, everything.

Pullox would put pigs blood in the water tank for surprise bloody showers, Honora would break shit. Rinse and repeat. People in the Victors' Village dared not to complain for fear of invoking the couples' wrath towards them. It was a vicious fear.

This particular night Pullox was perplexed. As stated before, he never considered himself anything but what he had always been. He enjoyed what he did. The cold, clay pathetic children who tried playing fair in an adult's world. Stupidity. Their chaos was his organization. From it, one could shape reality. One was king.

He did not feel like a king wrapping a child's present.

He had been at it for ten hours, the whole ordeal. Finding the present, getting Honora to chop the tree down, and then the whittling. Hours and hours of whittling. Honora said that despite all their troubles, they were 'fucking great parents.' Pullox simply grinned with a nod. Now he was on the porch of their mansion, trying to figure out how to wrap a handmade spear.

"Did you give yourself a splinter?" Honora's rasp could be heard right behind him.

Pullox turned, dusting his shoulder to give her a slight grin with a cock of his head. "No, if you must know, but you are welcome to try."

"Pfft yeah, like I'd need to resort to wrapping! Just throw it in his hands, make him fight for it. Earn it."

"Iroas needs to be given proper, _gentle_ care for these pursuits. Ever since your 'swimming' lesson he's been petrified to even touch the water."

Honora shrugged. "Not my fault he didn't learn." Pullox let out a hollow chuckle as an empty mirth crept into his eyes.

"Yes, a shame. Floy was a much better student. Perhaps when I give him his bath tonight he can…learn?"

Honora laughed. Pullox did with her. She bent down to help him, grabbing some pink wrapping paper.

"Was pink all that you could find. Such a pussy color."

"I happen to think it suits you." Pullox retorted with a knowing glance, giving Honora a dark blush.

"Do you want to get punched again?"

"Do you want to see what happens if you try?"

"Why? Did you sneak a remote detonator underneath the left floorboard a centimeter away from the 4th radius on the diagonal of my foot or some shit?"

"No I-"

"Or did you rig my wrist to shock me or inject me with some super fucked up sciencey toxin that implodes my brain and-"

 _"Sciencey?"_

"You know what I mean."

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Please, Honora, do enlighten me on this fascinating new term." Pullox leaned in with a grin.

"You get-"

"I can make up words too. Are you ready for one?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Here it comes."

"I will punch you."

"Concropecilous."

"Punching you."

"I quite-" Honora's fist came flying towards Pullox's left chin, only for it to swing into Pullox's wrist with a violent jerk. "-like it."

Honora kept her cold stare fixed on Pullox. Several minutes went by. Finally, she cracked a slow smile. "You magnetized our watches."

Pullox shook his wrist, Honora's arm moving in tandem with his where their watches were attached. "I think it's strangely romantic." "What, we're stuck together?"

"We're in sync with each other. Always pushing, always pulling."

Honora laughed briefly, her smile showing her teeth. Pullox would deny it to his last day, but he loved it when she did that.

"You don't control me, Pullox."

"Never, my dear. I simply matched you."

She gave him a quick kiss.

"You push, I pull."

Pullox smiled.

"You push, I pull."

They kept together for some moments longer, letting it last longer than either would ever have dared to if anyone was watching. They kept each other focused. Stable. Calm.

Finally, Honora broke the watches apart. "C'mon, let's get this fucker wrapped." And they bent, slowly, to their task, never taking their eyes off each other for long.

 _You push, I pull._

* * *

 **Yup. Here's another one. I don't know where my brain was at while writing this. Where was it? Alas, enjoy.**


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